Four hundred years ago, a coven of dead witches stripped Caleb Jensen of his soul. Now, his only hope is to convince local necromancer, Autumn Kane, to track down and restore it before his eternal hunger consumes him. Beautiful, powerful, and confident, Autumn is more than Caleb bargained for.

Except, Autumn has problems of her own. The dead are crying for help. A serial killer has begun targeting the young brides of Salem, and she is the only one who can save them. She has no time to break the curse on this rakish man who steals her breath. Everything about him unsettles her, from his dark nature to his wicked allure. He’s no knight in shining armor.

But maybe it's time for a little evil in her life.

Just breathe.

Autumn stood outside the Hawthorne Hotel and shivered when a brisk, fall wind chased up her bare back. This certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined the beginning of her night. She’d barely stepped foot out of her car and people were already staring. For a moment, she debated her decision to attend stag. After she’d hung up the phone, she’d dressed and left for the party, too angry to wait for Riley and Lexi. Unfortunately, that meant there was no buffer between her and the gawkers.

A delicate chime came from the clutch she held under her arm. The third message her sister had sent her in the past fifteen minutes, not that she cared. If she intended to work tonight, she needed a clear mind, sans Riley. With a deep breath, Autumn smoothed down the front of her dress, ignoring that her fingers brushed flesh where a plunging neckline artfully draped down to her navel. Certainly not the impression she’d intended to make. At least now she knew never to trust her sister with her wardrobe again.

Now or never, she assured herself.

The doors opened, and from within came the heavy beat of music. Seemed as though the party was already well under way.

Autumn slipped into the ballroom and paused to take it in. Every year the Festival of the Dead put on a ball. This year’s theme was a masquerade, and they’d decorated accordingly. The center of the room had been cleared for the dance floor, and the tables were adorned with black fabric and grotesque centerpieces, all in the name of Halloween. Ochre lights hung from the ceiling and glimmered against the painted walls. They always outdid themselves.

She perused the crowd, watching as they moved in sync to the music, their faces hidden by a series of beautiful masks. Wonderment filled her stomach when she realized she didn’t recognize anyone. The knowledge filled her with courage. They’d know her eventually when they sought her out to summon the dead. But for now, it seemed she could enjoy the anonymity.

A few turned to watch as she entered, but she brushed their attentiveness aside and instead started toward the hors d’œuvres. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of the Halloween-themed snacks from pumpkin cheese balls to monster cookies.

“Quite the selection,” a voice murmured next to her.

Autumn glanced up with a polite smile. Her gaze tracked up a lean length, taking note of the pristine suit that boasted a muscular physique, but it wasn’t until she caught sight of his startling green gaze shining out from behind a golden mask that she gasped.

Him.

Hell, she’d dreamed of those eyes all night, watching her from amidst the shadows. She took a closer look, her heart sputtering against her chest when she recognized Sadie’s soul. Her hip slammed into the table when she staggered backward.

“Shh, easy now,” he murmured, his hand gripping her elbow and steadying her.

Autumn flicked a glance around the room, noting Dawson and her ex-husband patrolling the far side of the room.

His fingers tensed around her elbow. “Don’t be frightened.”

“You.”

“Me,” he said, nodding.

“I thought you were detained.”

“Funny how the law works. Turns out they can’t detain you when you’re innocent.”

She blinked up at him, startled by the handsome sight. Who the hell was this man? Then his words clicked. “What?”

“You ate Sadie!” she exclaimed, wincing when her voice rose above the music.

His face twisted into a grimace. “Wow. That sounded…”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“For the record, I am not a serial killer.”

“No, just a soul-eater.”

He paused, shock widening his eyes as though he hadn’t expected her to put two and two together.

“Necromancer, remember? Did you think I wouldn’t know what you are?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought, truthfully.” He regarded her, his gaze unflinching. “I assure you, though, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Autumn’s attention dropped to his mouth, mesmerized by the enticing curve of his lips and his strong jawline. He shot her a smile, as though he knew the direction her thoughts had taken. Clearing her throat, she returned to the conversation. “I doubt that. I have a feeling you cause trouble wherever you go.”

“Ah, guilty,” he teased. “Life is too short to play by the rules.” He canted his head with a wide grin. “Well, too short for most.”

“But not you,” she said.

Autumn knew a little about his kind. Her father had come across one many years ago. She’d been thirteen at the time, so he hadn’t been willing to offer many details. The man had massacred multiple families before her father had managed to contain and destroy him. A soul-eater, her father had said, a creature so evil it fed off the souls of the living as a means of living an eternal life.

Her brow furrowed as she studied the man in front of him. Was he the same as the other? “Did you not notice all the police here tonight?”

That sinful mouth crooked. “Of course I did. Did you not notice my mask?”

Oh, she had. How could she have missed it? As though he wasn’t enigmatic enough, the ebony threads woven up into a beautiful leaf added a mysterious appeal. He’d darkened his skin beneath the mask, highlighting his emerald gaze.

He braved a step closer, and Autumn’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to believe it was the primal rush of fear that had her pulse going, but if it were, she would have made for the nearest police officer. Instead, she tipped her head back and watched as he closed the distance between them.

“Dance with me.” Not a question, but a demand.

Autumn blinked. “What? You’re insane.”

“Possibly. But insane would be not asking you to dance.” He leaned in toward her. “You look so beautiful tonight.”

His words warmed her stomach, but still, she narrowed her eyes. “As opposed to every other night?”

Most men might have balked at such a response, but this one merely tilted his head as the corners of his mouth pulled up in amusement. “I don’t know, yet. Ask me again tomorrow.”

Autumn couldn’t help but chuckle. “A smooth talker, I see.”

“The original smooth talker,” he assured her. “Now, about that dance?”

Before she could protest, his hand ghosted up the length of her back, and he led her out onto the dance floor. Autumn’s breath caught as they moved, the rich scent of his cologne teasing her nose. She should have been afraid, especially after last night, but for some reason, she was more nervous than anything else. She was safe here with half the city’s police force on patrol. Not that she was looking at them. She could barely tear her eyes away from her dance partner.

“Shall we?” He turned toward her and offered his other hand, brow arched as though daring her to resist.

“On one condition.”

His other brow rose.

“Your name.”

A smooth chuckle rose to her ears. “Ah. Forgive me. Here I thought your police friend would have told you everything about me.”

She shook her head.

“Caleb Jensen,” he said after inclining his head in an old gesture she’d only seen in the movies. He stepped up flush against her and wound an arm around her waist. “And you, my dear, are Autumn Kane, necromancer extraordinaire.”

Her breath caught the moment his fingers grazed the small of her back, as though his touch awakened her entire body. She cast a demure smile, then slid her hand in his and gazed up at him from under her lashes. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you know about me?”

“Hardly.” On the next beat, they started to dance.

He moved with singular purpose, and their bodies harmonized as he led them around the room.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He eased her out into a gentle spin before guiding her back into his chest. His head bent low, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “Amazing the things one can learn from the Internet.”

“I like to think of it more as studying an investment.” He leaned back and draped her body against his side, bracing her weight without breaking stride. “As I tried to tell you last night, I require your help.”

“With what?”

He tsked her, then spun her once more before leading her through the room. “Can’t we finish our dance before discussing business?”

Yes, please. The man certainly knew his way around the dance floor, and though surprising, she was enjoying herself. The feel of his body shifting against her, of his hand warm against her skin as he led her in circles. The logical part of her brain scolded her, told her she shouldn’t be enjoying this. The man had practically abducted her the night before. But the darker half of her soul yearned for this, to come alive beneath someone’s touch again.

A frightening notion that almost had her running home.

This was not the one to come alive for. He’d snatched her off the streets and dragged her into an empty house. He’d devoured Sadie’s soul. He’s the villain, her head screamed at her.

He brushed a hand through her hair and down her jaw. “Keep dancing with me, Autumn.”

Holding his gaze, she nodded.

She’d done the whole white knight in shining armor thing. Hell, once upon a time, she’d married a police officer, and it had been disastrous. Maybe it was time for a little evil in her life.

Gwen Knight is a Canadian girl currently living in Edmonton, AB. She graduated from the University of Lethbridge with a degree in Archaeology and Geography. Her interests consist of playing in the dirt, designing elaborate snow forts, boating, and archery.

For
fans of Karen Robards and Shiloh Walker, Anise Eden brings us the mesmerizing
sequel to her paranormal romantic suspense novel All the Broken Places.

Cate's enemies aren't just
surrounding her―they're inside her head.

Therapist Cate Duncan has just
accepted a job with the MacGregor Group, a unique collective of alternative
healers. She’s excited by the prospect of honing her empathic healing
techniques among others like herself―aura readers, telepaths, crystal healers,
and more. The fact that Cate just started dating Ben, her magnetic new boss, is
an added bonus.

Before Cate can settle into her
new routine, the poisoning of a prominent neuroscientist draws the entire
MacGregor Group into both a federal investigation and an even more insidious
threat. Protected by Ben’s former Marine Corps unit, Cate and her colleagues
must use their alternative healing methods to solve the crime as their patient
clings to life. The responsibility of discovering crucial information falls to
Cate and her parapsychological powers.

But for Cate, unraveling the
mystery means reopening wounds that had just begun to heal―and in the
environment of the Marine Corps unit, differences between Cate and Ben become
clearer, straining their budding romance. When a new crisis looms, Cate must trust
in her colleagues’ gifts and the strength of Ben’s love, finding the courage to
confront her deepest and most terrifying demons―or her own life will be at
risk.

Author Anise Eden writes The
Healing Edge paranormal romantic suspense series for Diversion Books. She
spends most of her time tucked away in her writing nook imagining things that
aren’t there. On those rare occasions when she emerges from seclusion, Anise
may be spotted in coffee shops, staring at her laptop screen and silently
moving her lips as she reviews bits of dialogue. Although Anise claims that
she’s the one in charge, the characters in her head do sometimes make her laugh
out loud at inappropriate moments.

Connie Lacey lives a nomadic existence. Alone. Safe. She can't risk being found by the stalker who haunts her waking nightmares. Until an invitation from billionaire Sylvester de León—to spend thirty days with him on his private island, Corazón—proves impossibly tempting. But one look at the gorgeous host's deep blue eyes, and Connie knows there is nothing safe about this paradise and the aristocratic man who calls it home.

The island is cursed…as is Sylvester himself. Yet something in him calls to Connie, ignites a desire that's filled with raw, timeless need. But Corazón has many secrets, each more dangerous than the last. And in a place where everlasting love, the past and fate intersect, even death is only a beginning…

Available for Pre-Order

Harlequin Amazon BN Kobo Google Play

Excerpt:

It is easy enough to list in advance, and with absolute certainty, those things for which we are prepared to die. Family, country, religion, the one we love, a valued way of life. Until we are faced with a situation that puts our convictions to the test, we can never know for sure which of these will hold true. There were many lessons to be learned during those strange weeks on the island of Corazón, but, for Connie Lacey, this would prove be the most important.
Four years of running and hiding. Four years of looking over her shoulder. Of viewing every man she met with suspicion. Of waking every morning, wondering if today was the day he would finally catch up with her.
The relief of being offered somewhere to hide was so huge it drove every other thought out of her head. She had a brief mental image of herself as a disaster survivor and the man opposite as the rescue worker who had just draped an emergency blanket around her shoulders. She resisted the temptation to cling to him, garbling out incoherent thanks until he was forced to gently pry her hands away. They were the wild thoughts spinning through Connie Lacey’s mind as she listened to the clipped tones of the attorney.
With hindsight, she probably should have paid more attention to the strangeness of the offer he was making and the diffident manner with which he made it. Gratitude will do that to you, she decided later. At the time her attention was taken up with grabbing this opportunity. Nod, smile, and sign on the dotted line. Don’t ask questions that might make him withdraw this incredible invitation. All she could focus on was the fact that—for thirty days, at least—she would not have to sleep with a knife under her pillow.
“You have one week.” She realized Mr. Reynolds had finished outlining the details of the proposal. “My client will expect you to be in Florida in exactly seven days’ time.”
Connie swallowed hard. She might have known there would be a catch. The logistics of getting to Florida posed a massive problem. Mentally, she reviewed the contents of her wallet. She knew exactly how much cash was in there. It wouldn’t get her across town let alone across the country. Before she could speak, Mr. Reynolds reached into the desk drawer and produced a hefty roll of banknotes. His expression softened slightly as he passed them across the desk.
“Expenses. For the journey and such sundry other items as may be necessary.” He cleared his throat with a hint of something that might have been embarrassment. “My client is a very exacting man. His guests will, for example, be required to dress for dinner during their stay on Corazón.”
Darn! And there I was thinking I had successfully managed to hide the fact that the sole is hanging off one of my sneakers and this sweater has forgotten what color it used to be.
Connie stuffed the wad of cash into her shoulder bag with a muttered word of thanks. If an encounter with Sylvester’s attorney could reduce her to the status of a gibbering wreck, how on earth was she going to cope with the man himself?
As she got to her feet, Mr. Reynolds rose and came around the desk. He held out his hand. Surprised, Connie took it. Instead of the handshake she had expected, he clasped her hand between both of his. It was an oddly tactile gesture for such an aloof man.
“However this venture may turn out…” He paused and Connie sensed he was fighting an internal battle. As if the personal and professional were at war within him. The result felt like his version of a truce. “I wish you well, Miss Lacey.”
It was only later, when she got back to her grim, one-room apartment and counted—then, in disbelief, re-counted—the money, that she began to truly appreciate the gulf between her world and that of Corazón. What constituted “sundry other items” to Mr. Reynolds was almost a year’s salary to Connie.
Laughing, she tossed the notes into the air and briefly contemplated just disappearing with them. To hell with “second cousin several convoluted times removed” Sylvester and his mysteriously worded proposition. This money could buy her the freedom from fear she had been dreaming of. Temporarily, it was true, but even that was so much more than she had wished for. No more moving from town to town and job to job? No more looking over her shoulder? Yeah, I’ll take that and deal with the future when it gets here.
A pang of guilt tugged at her. Backing out wasn’t an option. She had just accepted Mr. Reynolds’s wretched invitation and a promise was, after all, a promise. Besides—despite its reputation—she was intrigued enough by Corazón to want to see it and, even if she admitted it only to herself, she wanted to meet the legendary Sylvester.
The ease with which Arthur Reynolds, senior partner in the firm of Reynolds, Prudah and Taylor, had tracked her down was unsettling. Even if she hadn’t been contemplating answering Sylvester’s eccentric summons, it would have been time to move on. Goodbye—she experienced a minor moment of panic as she tried to remember where she was. It had to happen one day—Farmington, Missouri. The last month has been okay, but it was never a long-term thing. We both knew it. No hard feelings.
She had a week to prepare for the journey. With a shrug, she tucked the money away at the back of her closet and curled up on the bed with a book. Connie could have her belongings packed in an hour. She’d done it often enough.

About the Author:

Jane Godman writes in a variety of genre. Many of her stories are heavily tinged with the supernatural and elements of horror, with haunted characters tormented by dark secrets.

Jane writes paranormal romance for Harlequin Nocturne. Her Otherworld Series is set in a mystical land inhabited by many races, including faeries, vampires, lycanthropes, phantoms and gods. Unfortunately, the constant battles between these warring dynasties threaten to spill over into the mortal realm.

Jane’s series for Harlequin Romantic Suspense, Sons of Stillwater, will be coming soon.

Jane also writes steamy historical romance for Samhain Publishing and her Georgian Rebel Series features compelling heroes who fight hard for the cause they believe in and harder for the women they love.

In 2017, Jane has a new paranormal romance series coming from SMP Swerve.
Watch out for her hot Arctic werewolves!

Jane lives in Cheshire, England, is married to a lovely man and is mum to two grown up children.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Are you a blogger? Join the tour!https://goo.gl/forms/cLmuR61WSf5adxx82*´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)(¸.•´ (¸.•Enter to �#�WIN���http://goo.gl/70UTwvMore books for your money!A set of paranormal romance tales that will thrill and chill you just in time for All Hallow's Eve. With many of the stories set in Salem—the ultimate city for witchy, demon, and shape-shifting delight—these tales will enthrall you with their sexy heroes and spellbinding characters. Salem has never been this hot!

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Hello teasers! This is Dana Wright and I want to share a snippet of my story, Asylum. It is set primarily in the very haunted Bremore Asylum. Rachel has to find out what's behind the terrible reputation of the property with the help of psychic debunker, Matt Rutledge. When sparks fly can these two find common ground to get the job done before they too become one of the ghosts that haunt the hallways?

✫¸.•°*˜”*°•.¸✫ Grab It Today! ✫¸.•°*˜”*°•.¸✫

Asylum by Dana Wright

Blurb:

In the shadows of the heart, love is the greatest refuge.

Rachel Winestock is in a bad spot. She needs to get her Nana out of an abysmal assisted living center no ifs, ands, or buts about it. With the help of her demon cat Thickety, she agrees to put her ghost-hunting mettle back to the test after a horrific accident nearly claimed the life of her best friend. Ghosts are drawn to Rachel, and like her Nana says, with any great gift comes a great responsibility.

Matt Rutledge suffers no fool lightly—especially frauds who prey on the weak and grieving. A professional reality show host, he's seen his fair share of bad apples. One look at Rachel has him wondering just which side of the barrel she falls into. He knows there's something bad within the walls of Bremore Asylum. The voices of the past are alive behind the imposing iron gates. Now he just has to prove it.

When Rachel agrees to take the job investigating the disappearance of a fellow ghost hunter at Bremore Asylum, she is totally unprepared for the sexy and stubborn psychic debunker Matt Rutledge to be a part of the package. Can these two opposing forces, with the help of a very cranky demon cat, find the answers behind the asylum's crumbling walls before the asylum's grim history repeats itself?

Rachel Winestock quietly let herself into the room where her grandmother lay nestled under the sheets, the blankets swallowing her slender frame. Pale and shrunken, she was a frail shadow of what she had been months ago. Rachel smiled at the sound of her steady breathing and light snoring. Nana needed her rest and was stubborn about admitting it. Peering over at her wizened face, her grandmother’s lips appeared chapped.

Damn it. What do these people have against ChapStick?

It wasn’t fair. Nana appeared to be shrinking right before her eyes. Rachel had already lost her parents. She didn’t want to lose Nana too. It was too much. Especially after everything they’d been through over the last year. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she fought against them. She had to be strong.

No.

If Nana woke up and found her crying, there would be hell to pay. Rachel sniffled and forced her emotions in check.

“She needs to get out of here.” Thickety blurted out, his shadowy form hidden in the dimness of the room. His long cat tail flicked his distain, and he edged his head toward Rachel. Red eyes glowed from his smoky black form that could be as solid or transparent as he needed it to be. “The smell is worse than a cat box.”

“Why do you insist on following me? Can’t you just leave well enough alone?” Rachel ground out, trying her hardest not to make eye contact with the demonic cat. He’d been in her life since she could remember and nowhere along the way had it ever been easy. “And I know that. Look at those bruises.”

“Hey. I’m doing you a solid here. You want to know where the missing bracelet is that used to be on her arm? I’d look at that attendant down the hall.”

“The last time I listened to you someone almost died.”

“Don’t you mean ignore? I told you the child was in the house, not to go poking into foundation walls with no structure to hold them up. There’s a difference, sweet cheeks.” Thickety raised his paw and licked at his foot. “Remember I was right. Just because your friend decided to get a little crazy with a mallet and found herself buried was not my fault.”

Rachel sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth. “Look. I came here to see my grandmother. Can we save the arguments for later?”

“Fine.” The cat yawned and crept closer, his eyes focused on Rachel’s Nana. “She used to be livelier than this. What are they feeding her?”

“I don’t know but whatever it is, it’s not enough. She looks terrible.” Weak and more fragile than she had ever seen her, Rachel had to do something to get her out of here. Even if that something was take a job working for Harold Danvers. The past was the past. It was easy to say that until the nightmares came, leaving her shaking in her bed covered in sweat.

About the author:

Dana Wright has always had a fascination with things that go bump in the night. She is often found playing at local bookstores, trying not to maim herself with crochet hooks or knitting needles, watching monster movies with her husband and furry kids or blogging about books. More commonly, she is chained to her computers, writing like a woman possessed. She is currently working on several children's stories, young adult fiction, romantic suspense, short stories and is trying her hand at poetry. She is a contributing author to Masked Hearts, The Haunting of Zephyr Zoo, Siren’s Call E-zine in their “Women in Horror” issue in February 2013 and "Revenge" in October 2013, a contributing author to Potatoes!, Fossil Lake, Of Dragons and Magic: Tales of the Lost Worlds, Undead in Pictures, Potnia, Shadows and Light, Dark Corners (upcoming), Wonderstruck, Shifters: A Charity Anthology, Dead Harvest, Monster Diaries, Holiday Horrors and the Roms, Bombs and Zoms Anthology from Evil Girlfriend Media. She is the author of Asylum, The Invitation and Texas Twister. Dana has also reviewed music for Muzikreviews.com specializing in New Age and alternative music and has been a contributing writer to INfective Ink, Eternal Haunted Summer, Massacre Magazine, Metaphor Magazine, The Were Traveler October 2013 edition: The Little Magazine of Magnificent Monsters, the December 2013 issue The Day the Zombies Ruled the Earth. She has most recently reviewed music at New Age Music Reviews and Write a Music Review.